HERMAN' 



AND 



OTHER RHYMES 



HORACE DISBKOW KbhVt 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



FISHERMAN'S LUCK 



AND 



OTHER RHYMES 



BY /^ 

HORACE DISBROW REEVE ^^ . 






PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 

PHILADELPHIA 

1896 




«zT 



Copyright, 1896, by Horace Disbrow Reeve. 



APOLOGY. 

N these days, when of making books there is truly no end, 
none should be added "to cumber the ground" without 
good excuse, or at least, apology. 

Of the verses here gathered together, many have 
appeared in periodical literature, and are now reprinted 
at the request of valued — but perhaps rash — friends, 
and through the courtesy of the publishers controlling their 
copyright. Others have never before been published, and 
for -their appearance I fear there can be no shifting of 
responsibility. 

If through the lines that follow — miscellaneous and dis- 
connected as they are — there may be traced an optimistic 
thread of hope or cheer, to brighten a dreary day or illumine 
a gloomy niglit for any soul, then will be fulfilled the earnest 
wish of 

THE AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS. 

Apology, • , 3 

Fisherman's Luck, c 

A Rainy Day, 5 

He Knoweth All, 7 

"Uncle Obadiar," 8 

Spring's Allurements, g 

At Evening Time it Shall be Light, 10 

Arbutus, II 

Compensation, 1 1 

The Deacon's Mishap, . 12 

Present and Future, 13 

Sunbeams, 14 

" Returned with Thanks," • . . . 14 

Wait, '. 15 



D 



FISHERMAN'S LUCK. 

ID you ever go a-fishin' on a quiet, hazy day, 

Just the kind of day for fishin', with the sun half hid away 
By the clouds that hung around it, and everything was right ; 
And you fished and fished till evenin', but you never got a bite? 

L,uck you'd try to bring by baitin' with a most invitin' worm, 
And you'd think no fish a livin' could resist its temptin' squirm ; 

So you waited for a nibble from the early morn till night, 

But you fished and fished till evenin', and you never got a bite. 

All signs failed, and even spittin' on your bait would bring no luck, 
Though you kept on perseverin', to your hopeless sport you stuck. 

Vainly waitin' for your floater to be jerked down out o' sight. 
You would fish and fish till evenin', but you never got a bite. 

Seems to me this kind of fishin' lasts some people all their daj'S. 

Do their level best to capture gold or glory, fame or praise, 
Somehow luck's dead set against 'em, and their plans don't work 
out right. 

And they fish and fish till evenin', but they never get a bite. 



T 



A RAINY DAY. 

here's something in a rainy day, 

Though most folks call it dreary, 
A kind of sense of comfort like, 

That rests me when I'm weary. 
I like to set and hear it fall, — 

Its soothin' music tappin' 
Against the roof and winder panes, 

Like gentle spirits rappin'. 
My mind turns back to boyhood days ; 

I think of old-time doin's. 
And all the castles that I built, 

Which now are mostly ruins. 
A rainy day's a time to stop, 

And sort o' take your bearin' ; 
A day to heave-to the old boat, 

And mend the sails that's wearin'. 

****** 

But when a reg'lar storm blows up. 

The wind a howlin' fiercely ; 
And all the trees stripped by the gale, 

Not a leaf left on 'em, skeercely. 
The rain comes down in cataracts ; 

The old house fairly rattles ; 
The rafters groan, the shutters bang 

Like the noise of forty battles. 
You think of ships and gales and wrecks. 

And sailors in the riggin' ; 
Of men's hoarse cries and women's tears, 

And death, and graves a diggin'. 
Oh, then you thank your lucky stars, 

For home and comforts many; 
And pray the Lord for mercy on 

Poor souls that haven't any. 

'Collier's Weekly," July 4, 1895. 

6 



H 



He Knoweth All. 

ow hard it is to toil, 

And toiling, find no cheer. 

No word to help us in our task. 

Or make the way less drear. 

To be misunderstood, 

Our motives questioned all ; 

Brave work it is to labor on, 
And not, despairing, fall. 

But onward let us go, 

Discouraged never be ; 
For there is One who understands. 

Rewarding faithfully." 

He knoweth all our way, 
The path that must be trod ; 

The hills that are so steep to climb. 
Will lead us up to God. 

The New York Observer," September 19, 1895. 



UNCLE OBADIAR. 

'T'HERE is a man in our town — 
All the children love 'im ; 
Seems to fetch the twinkle down 
From the stars above 'im. 

Eyes are always shinin' bright, 

Smilin' even in sorrow ; 
Says he knows 'twill all be right, 

Next week or to-morrow. 

His best friends are girls and boys- 
Loves to have 'em nigh 'im ; 

Never minds their tricks and noise. 
Even when they guy 'im. 

They don't call him by his name, 

Nor 'taint his desire ; 
T'all the youngsters he's the same, — 

" Uncle Obadiar." 

Often puts his work aside — 

Says it aint no bother ; 
Never too much ockipied 

For some game or 'nother. 

Always has a yarn or joke 

F'r ev'ry one about 'im. 
He mends all the toys that's broke ; ' 

Couldn't do without 'im. 

Though you don't put on no style, 
Somethin' pointin' higher 

Lingers in your merry smile, 
Uncle Obadiar ! 
8 



A 



SPRING'S ALLUREMENTS. 

T "work in my study, I murmur and pine, 

For in through the window the streaming sunshine 
Tempts me to abondon my dallying pen, 
And trace Nature's footprints in meadow and glen. 

O, never before was the sky quite so blue, 
The trees were ne'er crowned with such radiant hue. 

And never so green the flower sprinkled field ; 
Resistless entreaties ! ' Who could not but yield ? 

So, flinging aside weighty prose and dull rhyme, 
I'll join Nature's hosts in the year's glad playtime. 

Behind me I'll leave all my thoughts and my books. 
And learn brighter themes from the birds and the brooks. 



At Evening Time it Shall be Light. 

Drear was the day, and dark 
The clouds that hung athwart the leaden sky; 

No cheer was there, and stark 
The trees stood while the winds went moaning by. 

Chilled were the buds, that in 
Their Winter's sleep by chance had restless turned. 

Dreaming that Spring, to win 
A frozen world to beauty, had returned. 

Gloom wrapped the earth ; the clouds 
Gave promise none of any brighter thing; 

Hushed were the passing crowds 
Which only yesterday with mirth did ring. 

As man met man, no glad 
Or cheering salutation was exchanged ; — 

Each face was grim ; — ^joy had 
No place in aught so hopelessly deranged. 

But in the throng came one, 
A feeble soul, bowed down with many cares ; 

Whose face withal so shone, 
As one who meets an angel unawares. 

" What kindling ray of cheer, 
Thy heart, O burdened one, has made so bright ? " 

This answer came so clear, 
" At evening time the darkness shall be light." 

Onward my way I took. 
Inspired, and learning from this humble guide. 

Through darkest days to look 
Steadfastly toward the light at eventide. 



ARBUTUS. 

r^ sweet and modest April flower, 

From searching eyes so coyly hiding; 
Dost fear that in some luckless hour, 

Thou, if more bold, wouldst merit chiding? 

Thou knowest not how fair thou art. 
If such a thought explain thy shyness, 

Or pride would play a larger part. 

And thou wouldst have us call thee, " Highness. 

Be bashful still ; retain this grace, 

And from rough gaze be still retiring. 

However fair a lovely face, 

'Tis this that makes it worth desiring. 

' Collier's Weekly," New York, April 21, 1894, 



COMPENSATION. 

A FTER the sun has vanished with the day. 

The stars console the night with sweeter cheer ; 
So, when our brightest pleasures fade away, 

A myriad blessings that we wist not of appear. 



THE DEACON'S MISHAP. 

THE funniest thing I ever seen 
Was when old Deacon Ezry Green, — 
Who's kinder deef in his left ear, 

And sits up front so's he can hear, — 
Come into church one day, and took 

His reg'lar seat, and with his book, 
Stood up to sing the openin' hymn. 

His singin' always Was with vim, 
And so he got a little het ; 

So when he had his hymn-book shet, 
And finished singin', then he thought 

He'd shed the overcoat he'd bought 
The day before of Tailor Brown. 

It was the tightest fit in town, 
And while he tugged to get it off. 

He suddenly began to cough. 
And sat down quick, but got his coat 

Well off before his pesky throat 
Gave him some peace ; and then he sat 

Straight up in church ; but he felt flat 
When all the people near his pew 

Begun to smile and snicker, too. 
For what do you suppose he'd done ? 

Took o^ both coats instead of one. 

The Philadelphia Press." Maj' 19, 1895. 



PRESENT AND FUTURE. 

THE future lies before us like a sea, 
Its waves, while beating at our very feet, 
Extend to shores unknown and far away. 
Where visions of our dreams we hope to meet. 

Those shores, while nearer coming every day, 
As on our journey rapidly we fare, 
Seem, like a mist before the sun's hot ray, 
Receding still before us in the air. 

For future, swallowed up in present time, 
- Seems ever like a dim and distant thing ; 
But what is now o'ercast with age and rime, 
Was once the future men did proudly sing. 

The present is the only time to live ; 
The past was it, and' future it will be. 
So to it we our earnest lives must give, 
And its brief moments use most faithfully. 

'To-Day," Philadelphia, April, 1894. 



13 



o 



SUNBEAMS. 

\ER the gloomy landscape, 

Wrapped in its robe of night, 
The glowing sun arises. 

And clothes it all with light. 

So, in our daily troubles, 
A helpful word of love 

Transforms our grief to gladness, 
Like sunshine from above. 

' Collier's Weekly," March 31, 1S94. 



s 



Returned with Thanks. 

HE never would forsake me, 
Her heart to me was true : 
She never tried tu shake me. 
Though other friends were few. 

Even if I sent her far away. 

Right quickly back she skipped. 

Her name was " Rose," and I might say, 
S/ie was a Manuscript. 



14 



WAIT. 

IF in the night, alone and bhndly groping, 
Tortured by fear, pursued by bitter fate ; 
Not even a star to shine a gleam of hoping ; 
Know that to morn the night will change — and wait. 

If on the sea, 'mid storm's tempestuous raging, 
Dark hang the clouds, like messengers of hate ; 
While angry billows fiercest war are waging. 
Know that the storm gives place to calm, — and wait. 

Ifin life's toil, vain seemeth each endeavor, 
Nothing accomplished ; know 'tis not too late. 
Sorrows and trials shall banished be forever ; 
Trust in the Lord, with patience for him wait. 

'The Presbyterian," March 14, 1894. 



'5 



PRESS OF LEMUEL WILT, 

417 WALNUT STREET, 

PHILADELPHIA. 



